


Lost But Not Forgotten

by peachycans



Series: RvB Oneshots [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Depression, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachycans/pseuds/peachycans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He takes a plane, he flies to nowhere. She takes a bus, she sits for a while. He takes a train, he doesn't know where to begin.</p><p>A teenage-based set of shorts about three troubled teens on the paths to nowhere. Or... Somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost But Not Forgotten

There was barely any part of life that Simmons enjoyed.

Some days he just wanted to give up, to free himself from the prison of Earth. It felt like it held him down with strong chains, as if death was the only option.

But Simmons pressed on, keeping hope that he would move on to greater things one day, in which he would break free and finally _live_.

He had a wild imagination sometimes.

On the days when Simmons was motivated enough to try, pretending he was living, pretending he was free, he knew that Earth wasn’t what was really holding him back, keeping him planted to the polished floorboards of his home. It was his family, and nothing else.

He had a kind mother; he _used to_. But she ran away from them when he was very young, not leaving any trace of herself behind for them to hold on to. That had bound Simmons down even more. 

Simmons’ father acted like a stone; he would never acknowledge Simmons when he returned home from work. He would never ask Simmons how is day had gone when he returned home from school. The same repetitive process had survived on for ten years. He would remain motionless, reading the paper and ignoring his only son. His only child.

The times he would notice the small things in Simmons’ life, the good things that would make him smile; he would end them with no more than a few sentences.

There had been so many opportunities that had opened up new doors for Simmons and told him he _could_ try. He could be who he wanted to be, and no one could make him do otherwise. Things such as mathletes, stem club, or even the debate team. All of those clubs had what he wanted; or at least a little bit of it. Freedom.

But every day Simmons would come home late his father knew; he just seemed to know those small things. The lectures would come, the scolding, the disappointment of having a nerdy, unpopular son that he had never really wanted. And every night that Simmons came home late, he buried his face in his pillow, ignoring the stale leftover dinner in the fridge waiting for him. He wouldn’t cry; Simmons never really cried. He just waited.

Simmons had an idea one night. A way to be free. It was an idea that inspired him to live. 

He was only seventeen, not exactly the age to have a ton of money. But he had never spent any of the cash he had received from relatives during the few times he got to see them. He’d had a small job a year before, but it hadn’t lasted very long. But nonetheless, Simmons had gotten some money off of it.

So, with over three hundred dollars hidden away in a drawer, Simmons made a plan. A plan for freedom.

It’d taken a lot of effort to be able to come home late, but this time it wasn’t for clubs or after-school activities. Simmons would go home brave after those times, and his father was convinced he was participating. Simmons was brave enough to tolerate suffering through another shouting rant, another rejection, and another sentence to his room. In the end, it would be worth it.

 _‘One more day._ ’ Simmons told himself that night, the night before everything would change for the better.

The next morning he got dressed and didn’t make his bed. He didn’t clean up the school papers strewn across the floor. He didn’t make his father’s breakfast. He grabbed his suitcase and backpack and walked out of the house to the car his old aunt had bought him, her death now a few months behind Simmons’ thoughts. 

He drove down the road at sunrise, not even sparing a glance back at the house he grew up in.

Simmons would follow in his mother’s footsteps; it took him so many years to figure out the reason why she left. Everything had come together for him, and he was going to do the same.

He pulled up to an airport some time later, leaving the car in the parking lot to sit there forever. He wasn’t going to come back for it. It held the sweetness of his Aunt in the seats, and he didn’t want to be reminded of the last good part of his life, gone. 

He got the official ticket to his destination and waited in a soft chair for a very long time before the plane showed up. 

When it did he was the first person on. He didn’t look back at the waiting area. He didn’t dare look back. Every time he looked back in his life he always changed his mind at the very last second, crawling back to the face he was forced to call his own father. He was sick and tired of it. He never wanted to look back in life again. 

Simmons was just over seventeen years old and he was tired of his life. He decided to make a new one.

He drifted off to sleep, dreaming about all of the possibilities of what might happen where he traveled. Should he have left? Yes. His home was not where he belonged. Would anyone take him in? He didn’t want them to. Would he go to school? As much as he would like to, people would find out who he really was if he chose to do so. He’d had enough education in his life; he’d be able to make do just fine.

Simmons slept for nearly six hours until the speakers sounded that the plane was landing at its destination. He sighed with relief, packing away his MP3 and making sure he had all of his belongings.

Out of all of the moments in his life, the Hawaiian sunrise was the most beautiful. He got off of the plane and sat on a bench for a while after collecting his bag, not sure where he should go as he thought about what would happen next.

*****

She picked fights. She was the bully in town. She had fifteen siblings and two parents, not a single one of them giving her any attention or any sign that they knew she existed. She was the oldest; she should know better.

Tex bashed in the head of her third sister, a twelve year old. She’d stolen a soda can she’d stashed away for herself and drank it without a second thought. Tex pounded her until she was nearly unconscious, leaving her bleeding face to lie on the floor until someone from their family noticed her.

They lived in a one bathroom, one bedroom, one-story house. They lived in the shady side of town; no one ever approached Tex in school for the fear that she would kill them.

Alaska was a cold state around wintertime, and it made her living conditions even worse; her family all slept in the same room on the dingy carpet floor, only a pillow given out as a support for their heads. Some sleep-walked, some sleep-talked, others jolted in their sleep.

She would get kicked in the head a few times every month by one of her siblings. She would end up punching them at least once for it later on.

She hated the horrible feeling her family gave her, that she was nothing but _garbage_. Maybe she was. She took out all of that frustration on other people, beating them senseless so they couldn’t even _breathe_.

No one had ever talked to her before unless they were begging for mercy. No one ever asked, _‘How was your day?’_ or, _‘What would you like?’_. She was ruthless, she was uncontrollable. She couldn’t take it.

Her parents never cared what their children did to each other or to anyone in general. Sometimes the police would show up with one of them at their doorstep. Their mother would simply take them inside, not even sparing a second glance as she went to do anything but feed her own. More than not it was Tex in those oh-so familiar cuffs.

She dug out of trash cans in the town’s center for food. She would beg for money on the street to get even a snack, never making more than three dollars a night. She considered so many ways to get some food in her system, but nothing ever really _worked_. 

Tex wouldn’t get anything for her siblings or parents. She never shared. She didn’t just give someone something because she _felt like it_. She had the things she owned because she needed them to survive, and the rest didn’t matter because did they ever do anything nice for her, or even _talk_ to her? No.

She was confused, angry, scared about what her life was becoming. She didn’t want it; she didn’t like anything about it. 

That’s when she started stealing money from her parents. Tex found out they had a stash; she became furious when she found out how much they had actually been using for themselves. She took five dollars out of their wallets for many, many months. 

When Tex finally had a decent amount that she didn’t use for food or clothing, she didn’t go back to the house until eleven at night. She knew everyone would be sleeping in the living room by then; it was their routine.

She slipped past them and into the only actual bedroom of the house to her parent’s stash. They had over four hundred dollars left over in that one place just from the last week. She took it all out, stuffing the rolls into her crummy messenger bag before running out of the house. 

Tex knew what she wanted to do since she found her parent’s little hiding place; she was going to run away. Take buses and get far, far away. Her parents wouldn’t be able to put up missing posters; they probably wouldn’t even want to. Her parents couldn’t call the cops and rat out Tex, saying she stole their money. With all of the bad things they had done in life themselves they would be digging their own grave. 

She was practically unstoppable. At age sixteen, she knew she could do anything she wanted with her life. When she landed in that faraway place she dreamed of, she would try starting her life over. Stop getting in so many fights, stop nearly killing people. Nearly dying wasn’t much different from the real thing.

She rode a bike she stole from her first brother and biked into town again, heading to the bus stop. She wasn’t going to let any tears fall. She wasn’t sad. She felt _alive_.

She took a bus to a big city two towns over, using up more money to get a rentable taxi driver to take her far, _far_ away.

Tex slept in the back of that dingy car for a long time, waking up to the driver telling her that they were where she had directed him. She thanked him and paid her side, slamming the door shut as the driver drove off.

She sat on a metal bench after walking through the bright city, choosing to sit down and think.

*****

He was the rich son of a big family. He could have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. He lived in the beautiful part of town with his mother and father. 

Tucker lived quite a simple life in a huge house. There was a large staircase that led up to the second, third, and fourth stories of the house. His bedroom was magnificent; he had the softest sheets, a huge flat screen TV, and many other new-age gadgets that fit his everyday needs.

During dinner he would talk about school, his ‘friends’, and his fine life while his parents ate their meals with him. But he would be the only one talking. They wouldn’t look over when he told them something amazing that had happened that day. That he had met a girl that seemed to have an interest in him.

At night he would watch movies from the comfort of his bed, thinking about ways to attract the attention of his parents. The people that worked for them didn’t do more than say, ‘Yes sir.’ Or ‘I’ll get that right away.’. They were nothing to him; he wished that they could at least be someone to talk to. 

So many parties were thrown at their house with family and a few friends from the rich side of town. Tucker would try talking to them, but they saw him merely as a spec out of their whole universe. He was born with a short gene; he would tug on their clothing during his tween years to try to get them to just _listen_. They never would, they’d kick their skirts out of the way and huff, carrying on with his own parents.

His parents loved their friends and wealth more that their own son. They hadn’t even taken care of him as a young child; they left their maids to tend to that. They would barely speak to him. It was like he was being tortured with the lack of response.

As for the ‘friends’ he had, they would never really talk much to him or about him unless he brought them some sort of gift in return for conversation. It was as if he were paying them for something his family didn’t give him, and no matter who was giving it, it was never _genuine_. It was _hopeless_.

Tucker wasn’t dumb, he asked questions. He knew how to get around. But if there were two people that never gave him answers it was his mother and father. 

As he grew into his later teenage years, he just didn’t try talking to anyone anymore. He could see the look of concern of some of the servants’ faces, even if it was just barely there. Tucker didn’t care; it wasn’t worth anything to him anymore. 

Things seemed to move in slow motion for him. He was almost eighteen, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to really _do_ anything if he just up and left as soon as he turned of age to do so.

He wasn’t sure if his mother and father would leave him any money when he left, they were so busy with themselves. Would they even think to give their own son a look of pity by the time he left? Would they let him take _anything_?

Life was slow, his parents were greedy, and he couldn’t do anything for himself without a little bit of assistance from someone. He was alone. No one cared.

One night Tucker dreamt of a blade piercing through his chest, a gun to the mouth, some old pills down his throat. But he knew that death wouldn’t be the answer to his survival in the outside world. It was a terrible way to look, an unforgivable way to turn. He knew that his parents would barely notice, but it still didn’t set right with him, and it sent shivers up his spine.

One night he decided to open his parents bank account once more but not to buy anything to add on to his massive collection of things he doesn’t really need; he bought train tickets worth a good deal of money.

Everyone went to bed, sleeping peacefully. Guards were out, preventing Tucker from really going anywhere without getting caught by someone. He pulled on his teal hoodie and black skinny jeans. He didn’t want to belong to a rich family anymore. He didn’t want people to look at him like he was a wad of cash instead of a human being.

He pulled his clean dreads back into a neat ponytail and grabbed a small rope that would be enough to climb down from the third floor of the mansion. He was sick and tired of his life, he was going to go out and create a new one. 

As soon as his clean converse touched the damp grass he bolted, running over to a skateboard he kept by the large fence, a secret side gate he found about hanging open by an inch. He slung the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and threw the board down, riding as fast as he could down the dark road. 

Tucker arrived at the train station just in time, making sure he had his ticket. The secrecy in his plan was great; he had taken money from the bank in wads and purchased the tickets as to go unnoticed by anyone in his family.

He grabbed his board and made sure his backpack was secure on his back before he ran onto the train, finding an empty seat compartment. 

He slept for the longest time, relief overwhelming him as the train began to move towards its destination. He was free. When all movement halted, his eyes flew open and the day was bright, casing light over his body and making him glow in a brilliant way. He ran back off the train, checking the map. He was gone.

*****

The red head looked up to see that most people had cleared out of the airport section. It was sundown; no one traveled much during nighttime hours. 

Simmons stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of his jeans, deciding that sitting around an airport all day was enough. He was going to go out, maybe find somewhere to live until he got a job. 

A small girl peeked out from behind a pillar, staring at Simmons just as he was about to walk by. She looked like she was around nine years old and yet she was still so frail. Her hair was messy; her shirt was sprinkled with dirt around the bottom edge, her short-shorts torn down the side.

He walked over and pulled two dollars out of his wallet. He didn’t have much money to survive on his own, but it was the most he could do for her. 

She snatched the two out of his hand as soon as he approached her, scanning the bills in amazement. Simmons smiled warmly, feeling happy that he could brighten the girl’s day with such simple money.

A boy poked around the corner behind her. He stared at Simmons for the longest time, scanning him up and down. He was around Simmons’ age, maybe a year older. He had dirty black hair like the little girl sitting in front of him, and tired chocolate-colored eyes.

“Are you homeless too?” The young man asked, petting the little girl’s hair. 

Simmons quickly nodded, putting the wallet back in his pants pocket. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to these two just yet. 

The teen’s eyes widened and he reached a hand forward. “You can come with us if you want. The place we live is safe by the beach.”

The red head shifted the weight on his feet, rubbing his arm awkwardly. He knew that talking to random strangers was bad, but for some reason he felt warm around these two newcomers. Did he really have any other good options on where he should stay? They weren’t older people.

He nodded at the boy. The two of them smiled and the teen reached his hand further. Slowly, Simmons took it.

He was pulled towards the exit of the airport, the small girl trotting ahead of them as she held a small stuffed animal close to her chest. The teen still hadn’t let go of his hand. Simmons felt himself blush, looking ahead instead.

When they were out on the pavement in the night, Simmons shivered. He’d always been sensitive to cold temperatures, and even though it was a warm part of the world the dark still gave him chills. 

The teen wrapped a chubby arm around his waist as he felt Simmons’ hand shake in his own. Simmons smiled. 

The teen looked at him, smiling back. “Good to have you with us. That’s my sister. I’m Grif.” 

Simmons looked at the ground and mumbled. “Simmons.”

The teen smiled. “Welcome to paradise.”

*****

She was poked in the shoulder, hard. Tex put up two sleepy arms in defense where she laid on the bench, her crusty eyes opening slowly. 

A young man stood above her, looking down with bright blue eyes. He wore a coat and a light blue scarf that was waving with the wind, and she noticed black hair peeking out from under his matching hat, streaks of brown in between the loose strands. 

Tex groaned, sitting up and glaring at the teen that sat down beside her. She looked in the other direction, crossing her arms over her chest.

The teen didn’t say anything, and didn’t ask her anything. He removed his scarf from his neck, holding it out in his hand towards Tex.

She glanced back at him with a stern look on her face before noticing what he was holding. She grumbled before taking it out of his hands, wrapping it around as much of her bare skin as she could. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” The teen nodded. He paused for a moment before trying to start up conversation. “Are you… Homeless?”

“Psh.” She leaned back in the chair and hung her head back, trying to give off her tough vibe. “Yeah. What’s it to you?”

The man held out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Church. I… Have a place that my friends bought for me a few years back. I used to be homeless like you. You just seem like you need a place to stay for a little while. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She huffed, looking at him. “What makes you think I trust you just after I met you?”

The man bit his lip. “Well you seem like a tough, rebellious kind of person that would kill anyone who would try to hurt you. So I assumed you’d be able to handle yourself. You just… Look really cold out here.”

She sat up. “Fine.”

The teen’s eyes widened. “Really? Just like that?”

Tex stood up and put her hands in her sweatpants pockets. “Yeah, just like that. You gonna show me this place or what?”

The teen gave her a gleeful look, and she raised an eyebrow at him in response, “Cool. Ever since I got that place I never really wanted to see anyone go through what I had to. It was horrible.” He told her, standing up and walking down the sidewalk with Tex alongside him.

“Oh, really?” She asked. “What’s your name then?”

“Leonard Church.”

When they reached a small apartment building, Tex kicked off her beat-up shoes in the corner, immediately plopping down onto the couch.

Church hung up his jacket, standing nervously by the door. “I-it’s no paradise here, but it’s better than the streets I guess.”

Tex grinned, “Yeah, man.” She yawned, stretching her arms behind her head. “Totally.”

*****

Tucker walked down the busy sidewalk, his stomach grumbling as he passed several snack stands. Not being able to eat whenever he wanted was going to suck. But he found it somewhat pleasing at the same time; no one here acted like statues or ghosts. 

He paid a young man for a hot dog at one of the posts, greedily digging into it. The man smirked at him. “Are you really that hungry?”

Tucker shoved the last of the hotdog into his mouth, wiping off his face with the back of his hand, “Just a little bit.” He immediately pulled a bag of potato chips out of his backpack and ripped it open, digging in.

The man looked him over before sighing, “Hey, can I ask you something a little personal?” Hot dog guy asked, leaning over on his cart.

“What?” Tucker asked, his chewing slowing down drastically as he glanced over at him.

The man leaned over a bit further, lowering his voice. “Did you run away from your family or something?”

Tucker glared daggers at him, immediately making the man step back, “Yes.” He spat. “Yes I did.”

“Oh.” The man said, lowering his eyes. After a moment they flickered back up to him. “What’s your name?”

Eating the last chip, Tucker threw the bag in the trash bin and placed both hands on the counter of the cart, almost knocking over a bottle of mustard. “Why? You gonna turn me in to the cops and send me back home? Because I never want to go back to my stupid ass family.”

The man shook his head frantically, his soft blonde hair shaking in the breeze, “No! No, I’d never do that! I was just wondering if you maybe lived around the area I used to! I mean I knew everyone’s name around there!” He practically squeaked out.

Tucker’s gaze softened only a little. “Tucker. Lavernius Tucker”

The man’s eyes widened. “Wait, you mean the rich guys Tucker?!”

He huffed. “Yeah.”

“Why did you leave?” The man asked. 

“Because no one cared about me there. They barely knew I existed.” Tucker choked out, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry.” The man said sadly, putting a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “Um… If you want to… You’re welcome to stay with me until you get on your feet around here.”

Tucker looked over at him. “…Really?”

“Sure!” He said cheerily, flipping over four cooking hot dogs. “As long as you can get a job and start helping me pay rent at my place within a month and a half.”

Tucker groaned. “Fine. So, what’s _your_ name?”

“David Washington.” He flipped a hot dog onto a bun and handed it to a woman nearby. “Would you like any toppings on that?”

Tucker hummed, leaning on the cart. “So when can we go?”

Wash turned back to Tucker as soon as his customer left, “I’m gonna be out here all day, so not until six. You can chill out for a while if you want to.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

He read the sign on the cart, ‘Paradise Hot-Dogs’. He snorted, sitting on the chair next to the cart and observing Wash from where he worked. 

Tucker closed his eyes, daydreaming. _‘I guess not all strangers are bad.’_

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling pretty down when I decided to write this; I tried to make it to brighten my day a little bit. I like to think of it as a reminder that things can get better; it really depends on the path you take. _By the way;_ this fiction is not meant to be taken as an encouragement to run away. Ehe....
> 
> So I really liked writing this one, although I may or may not go back to edit it in the future. I don't know. We'll see, I guess.
> 
> EDIT: Lol, nope. I'm not.


End file.
